


northern downpour sends its love

by Wickedlovely01



Series: we wrote a story in the fog on the windows that night [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Fluff, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Panic Attack, hercules is a literal angel, it's brief though like only a paragraph, omg i'm dying & so is alex, part 3 of six, pondering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 13:45:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10855206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wickedlovely01/pseuds/Wickedlovely01
Summary: something isn't right, babei keep catching little words but the meaning's thini'm somewhere outside my life, babei keep scratching but somehow i can't get in(a.h.b)aka - the one where alex is dying slowly & hercules ponders colors





	northern downpour sends its love

**Author's Note:**

> lol sorry if there are typos in the a.n i have long nails aND CANNOT TYPE
> 
> welcome to third installment of six of my hamilton series about love and drugs and consequences of your actions. this one is kind of happy but not really. you NEED to read at LEAST the first installment, or you'll be hella confused!
> 
> trigger warnings  
> \- hospitals  
> \- panic attack (though it's mild and it's more of a disassociation episode + it's only for a paragraph)
> 
> there's some irish in there bc my hc is that hercules can speak fluent gaelic. they're pet names but they mean 'my sweet one' 'goose' 'elephant' and 'ducky', respectively. have fun reading, my chickies!

Hercules watched as another brown leaf fell to the ground by the tree outside the hospital. It was bitterly cold for the middle of april. He scuffled his worn out shoes on the dull pavement, waiting for his boyfriend to come out of the doors. They were brown, just like everything else in his life. The brown shoes were a gift from his brother on Christmas; his brown fingerless gloves a gift from John when they celebrated their six month anniversary two years ago; the brown hair he’d shaven close to his scalp, a present from his mother the moment he was born. Hercules was surrounded by earthy tones, and he didn’t particularly mind.

The hospital was chic and modern, which was how Hercules liked most things. People were coming and going out of the visitor's entrance, and Hercules saw them in shades of brown. He saw how mundane their lives must have been. Brown eyes, brown lips, brown lollipops sticking out of children’s mouths. _He_ was brown himself, but he had colorful people in his life.

Lafayette was an ever changing shade of purple. Hercules calls him a chameleon. In the morning, his sweet Lafayette is a soft lilac, all rounded corners and out of it until he drinks his coffee that is more milk than caffeine. He walks into the afternoon in all sorts of outfits, and Hercules has known to look out for the shade he’ll turn next depending on the outfit he wears. If Lafayette chooses to wear a dress that day, then maybe the lilac would linger for a bit longer, and Hercules would pepper him with kisses and Disney marathons. If he donned sweats, the purple darkens to a near black, and Hercules lets him stalk back into the bedroom alone, armed with his xanax and a book written in French. Casual clothing, be it jeans or a pleated skirt, was a royal purple, and invited dates with museums and local coffee shops in mind. Hercules didn’t have a preference towards his Lafayette. He was an ocean, and you took the ocean in stride or you receded, and Hercules Mulligan was not a quitter.

John… John was, well, special, to say the least. He had one mood, and that was anger, so Hercules dyed him a dark crimson red. His toned muscles reflected light like some vindictive and callous god, and Hercules thought often he was bathed in blood. It wouldn’t surprise him; John and Alex had started going to wrestling clubs on Tuesday nights. They didn’t come home until four in the morning, and Hercules never asked what sort of injuries John had gotten. Sometimes John was so red he was hard to look at, so Hercules would look down at his thick fingers and sew a vest a bit faster. John didn’t manipulate like Alex did, John wasn’t mean like Alex, and he didn’t raise his fists. But when he was furious the entire world knew about it, and the bellowing echoes he produced shook Hercules to his core. Sometimes John’s fire would die down, and the red was bearable, so Hercules would lie with him in bed and they would talk about nothing until one fell asleep.

Alexander was a different story. Hercules could never place a color on him. For a year or two he’d get comfortable with the idea that _Alex is grey. He’s mysterious and I love him._ But then a month later he’ll change himself to green. Green, which represents freshness, something Hercules desperately needs. Green, which is also the hue for jealousy, which Alexander definitely _is_. But he might be changing to another color again. His toes are not so green anymore, nor are his hands. Alexander Hamilton, at least to Hercules Mulligan, was a completely and wholly a wonderful enigma.

His phone dings, and he looks down at his cracked screen.

 **John:** alex outta life support yet?

Hercules’ fingers are numb and refusing to type at a normal pace, but he manages a reply.

 **Herc:** couple more minutes, probably. why? you need something?

 **John:** nah. laf wanted to go grocery shopping w me, so you & alex can take your sweet ass time

 **Herc:** i’ll keep that in mind. be safe, love you.

 **John:** yep. love you too.

Hercules puts his phone back in his pocket, peers back at the hospital entrance. Alexander is ten minutes late, and he wouldn’t really mind, except today is cold and rainy, and he forgot to grab a jacket. He knows that it’s easy to walk into the building where it’s warm, but just like everyone else in their family, Hercules hates the smell of hospitals. He hates that they mean death instead of life, and even in Alexander’s case it’s true. He’s been going to specialists and therapists here for _years_ and they’ve only managed to prolong the onset of his disease. But he knows there’s no cure.

After a few more minutes he spots Alex slogging out of the automatic doors. He’s wearing one of John’s old shirts and jeans, his dark hair pulled up into a bun that sits low on his neck. Hercules lets him walk to him at his own pace, never pushes him to get home. When Alex reaches him, Hercules smiles, puts his hand on his left arm.

“How was it?”

“My T-cells are lower.”

“O-Oh.”

Drumming church bells sound in Hercules’ stomach, and suddenly the world pulls away. He’s floating in blackness, yet his body feels like lead. He’s already walking to the funeral, staunch white shirt pressed against his chest. Or maybe the shirt is grey… He’s not sure. He can’t seem to focus on anything except the fleeting fact that Alex is going to die. Of course, he always knew this. He always knew death was endgame. It wasn’t marriage. It wasn’t adopting kids on a Sunday. It wasn’t retiring to a little house up in Maine. It was sitting in a bright hospital room, watching the life leech away from Alex in the place he hated most. Hercules didn’t know what his face was going to look like then; but certainly not the youthful look still plastered on him now.

“-erc. Hercules. Herc, baby.” Suddenly he’s pulled back to the present, the future forgotten for a few seconds. There stands Alexander, and Hercules notices that the skin around his dark eyes are rimmed with red. He wonders how long Alex had been crying for. “It’s okay. I’ve made my peace with it.” He sniffs, rubbing at his already red nose. Hercules leans down and kisses it.

“You don’t need to. You’re allowed to cry or be angry. Your life support mentor would agree.”

Alex shrugs, sticking his hands into the pocket of his jeans as he starts the trek down the street. The wind tugs at his hair incessantly; Hercules resists the urge to tuck the stray strands behind his ear as he follows suit. “There’s no point.”

“Bullshit. There’s always a point.”

“No, there’s a point in being angry over a B in your college PoliSci class because you’ll be sent back home, and there’s a point in crying when your mother dies in your arms, and there’s a point in being emotional when your boyfriends spring back to you after almost a year of no communication. But this? Nah. There’s no point in being anything regarding this fucking disease.”

“You’re all backwards.”

“Fuck you. Honestly.”

“Fine,” Hercules bounds a little in front of Alex, making sure they locked gazes. “Then I’ll be emotional for you.”

“That isn’t your fucking call.”

“It is if my boyfriend refuses to acknowledge the fact that this is a game changer in his life plans.”

“Jokes on you, fatass. Didn’t have any in the first place.”

“We both know that’s not true. From the moment I met you, you’ve wanted to be CEO for some big company. John said when you were a senior in high school you had over one-hundred hours of community service, and you had so many scholarships you could go anywhere you wanted. There’s not a point in your life where you haven’t had life plans.”

Alex rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, that fucking stopped the moment I got AIDS.”

Hercules sighs and shakes his head. “That doesn’t mean that you’re going to die in a month. It doesn’t mean that you’re going to die in a year. The doctor says that if you maintain a healthy lifestyle and continue to regularly take your AZT, you could live a long life.” He doesn’t look at Alexander. Doesn’t need to, because he knows the look in his eyes and how his jaw is set. He stops in the middle of the sidewalk and presses their foreheads together, bystanders be damned. _Everything_ be damned, because this is Alexander fucking Hamilton, and despite all of his sins and wrongdoings, Hercules loves him. “I know this is scary for you. I can’t begin to imagine the shit you’re going through, and I don’t really want to. But I _know_ that giving up hope is something that you don’t wanna do to yourself.”

He finally stops looking at the ground and into Alex’s face. It’s screwed up, like he’s biting his tongue, and his cheeks and nose are red from the cold air. Hercules turns away again and tugs at Alex. “C’mon, _mo cheann milis_ , I’ve got something i wanna show you.”

They walk silently for a while, and to the west Hercules can see some of the grey clouds clear up into a bright sky blue. He thinks about how his grandparents never got to see this beautiful sky. It’s ever changing, and the Irish sky back home was nearly always storming. He’s never taken Alexander to Ireland, he knows he wouldn’t like it. Hercules has been back a few times since his parents moved to their farm again. It’s calming for him to know that despite everything, Coleraine has remained the same since his childhood. He loves New York and his boyfriends and his job with dental and health insurance, but it’s continuously metamorphosing. Back home, streets don’t go through continuous name changes, your favorite local coffee shop doesn’t close down to make way for a Starbucks next door, the people aren’t guarded, and you don’t have to worry about your boyfriend dying due to a _fucking_ disease.

Or, at least, that’s what Hercules thinks.

He hasn’t tried running back to his hometown like Lafayette has. He doesn’t see the point, and while there’s nothing wrong with running away from the kind of circumstances he’s been under, Hercules can’t bring himself to abandon the boys who, albeit a little hazardously, turned his basic heart of cheap polyester into an expensive silken artery. He loves that Alexander has given him a new heart; he just wishes that he could return the favor.

Maybe Alex is grey again. Hercules looks where the weakened sunlight hits him - his right profile - and imagines him as cool steel. He’s strong in his advances, and in all the time that Hercules has known him, Alex has never wavered from the path he set for himself.

They keep walking until Hercules reaches the park near their apartment. It’s early evening now, and the sun is only beginning to set in the ash colored sky. The chill in the air has settled in his bones, and Hercules cups his hands and blows into them to bring something of a resemblance of warmth to his digits.

“The _park?_ The fucking park, Hercules? Are you kidding me?” Alexander huffs as he crosses his arms, brings one up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You’re so fucking annoying. Seriously. The park? I’ve been here so many times before. I’m gonna punch you, I swear to god.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s not the point. Let’s just keep walking.”

“No. Jesus Christ man, it’s cold out! I wanna go home and just fucking write until I die! That’s all I’m good at.”

“Alexander…”

“I don’t wanna be here anymore! What fucking purpose do I serve?!”

A couple bystanders leaving the park stop for a minute to stare at Alex. Hercules apologizes to them quietly and waves them along, then gently grabs Alex’s shoulders, rubbing smooth circles into his skin with the pads of his thumb. “Your purpose is to be one of the best things that has ever happened to me. Your purpose is to change the world, one word at a time.”

“I haven’t been changing the world, Herc. I’ve been wandering for over a year, looking for my next hit, and now that I’m back I’ve been trying to take a breath that doesn’t hurt. How the fuck is that changing the world?” He shoves Hercules away, hard enough to make him sway on the uneven concrete, and hard enough to pass on a message telling him to fuck off. Hercules, though, has always been some sort of a rebel. He doesn’t like to listen to people, and he doesn’t think he’ll start now.

“You’ve changed my world.”

“For better or for worse?”  

Hercules has to pause for a second before answering. There’s no doubt in his mind that Alex’s presence in his life has been for the better. Hercules’ vocabulary has certainly gone up because of Alexander’s intellect, and he loves the extra heat source during the cold nights at home. He loves that the knowledge of the entire world is poised on Alex’s fingertips, leaving it an open book for Hercules to learn from. However, just like with everything else, there are cons to Alexander Hamilton’s presence. He’s rude and abusive, often pushing Hercules away. Sometimes holding his head underwater at the pool for too long, and throwing plates at him when Alex doesn’t get what he wants.  

So instead of picking one or the other, Hercules just merely says “Both.”

Alex nods his head approvingly, seemingly okay with the answer, replying with, “Fair.”

There’s a little bit of silence between the two men, and Hercules looks at some ducks waddling across the cemented path. He thinks about the time he came here without Alexander, about how lonely he felt. He felt as if he was dunked in cold darkness and there wasn’t an end in sight. He felt like every color had been leached from him except for boring old familiar brown. John had melted into brown, and Lafayette had had the purple drained from his life. It feels the same now. Nothing has really changed. Alexander is here, but he isn’t. He always looks like he’s a million miles away, and it breaks Hercules’ heart.

“I wanted to show you the ducks.” Hercules says, and they both lock eyes.

“But I’ve seen them before.”

“Shut up for a second?”

“Mm… Fine. Whatever.”

“I don’t know if you know this, but… Back home, in Ireland, I mean, I used to take care of some ducks with my little brother, Hugh. We named them stupid names like _Gé_ and _Eilifint_ and _Lachín_ . There was one that was smaller than the others, and we named him _Mharthanóir_ , which means ‘survivor’. He had a lame leg because he wandered into another male ducks nest, and he bit him. _Mharthanóir_ wasn’t expected to live long, and mum wanted us to just leave him alone because natural selection would run its course. But Hugh and I were determined.

“We fed _Mharthanóir_ ourselves, let him live in the warm barn with the cats and horses, and soon he started to grow stronger and happier. He followed Hugh around like he was a dog. Mum said _Mharthanóir_ was going to die, and that we’d be broken hearted. But through a lot of determination and our love for him, _Mharthanóir_ lived a long full life.”

Hercules sees Alexander smile, bends down amongst the downy feathered fowl, and watches the ducks scatter away from them, chirping and peeping quietly. Alex stands up with a little frown on his face, and Hercules chuckles softly, takes his hand and kisses Alex’s cheek. “When I got really lonely when you were gone… I came to this park. I walked the same trails for hours on end. I just talked to myself, and people thought I was crazy. I talked to you, mostly. I told you how I couldn’t be mad at you despite you destroying our family. I couldn’t hate you because I was in love with you, and I still am. I followed the ducks and I thought of _Mharthanóir_. I think of him now, and how you’re exactly like him.”

“I’m not a duck, Hercules.” Alex chimes in amusedly, a little smile playing on his face as they walked down the path.

“No, but you were both dealt a bad hand in life. You’re both deathly ill, but that’s my point. If you let us - me, John, Lafayette, Eliza, and Angelica - take care of you, you don’t necessarily have to resign yourself to dying within a year. Your T-cells might be lower, but that doesn’t mean your spirit has to be. You’re still allowed to be angry and sad about these things. I would be. I love you, my Alex, _mo cheann milis_ , and it would be an honor and a privilege to take care of you.”

The cold wind whips around them as they start walking down to the other end of the park. Hercules can see how the shadows play on Alexander’s face again, making the drooping hook of his nose black like soot, and he’s more akin to a crow than a human. Alexander has always been a scavenger, never quite content with having _enough_ and always needing _more_. He’s a different breed than anyone Hercules has ever known, and maybe that is why placing a color on him is such a difficult task. Hercules has wrestled with that idea since the day Alex and him had crossed paths, but he thinks he’s settled on a color after so many years.

Copper.

Alexander is copper. Not the copper you find on pennies, but the copper that cloaks the Statue of Liberty. He starts out bright and hopeful; a beacon of light, ready to destroy the world to revamp it in his image. He outshines all others who try to step up to the plate, and it’s blinding at first to look at Alexander Hamilton. Hercules has noticed the wear and tear of his boyfriend, how the copper has chipped and oxidized to show almost a toothpaste blue. Hercules knows that Alex is tired, and the metal frame that is holding him up is bending under the weight of his brilliant mind and his dying immune system. Alexander is ever-changing copper, and Hercules is okay with that.

When they reach the exit of the park, Alex breaks the silence. “I’m so fucking angry.”

Hercules replies with, “I know.” Alex doesn’t need to explain himself.

He knows that Alexander, no matter how closed off he might seem, would always come running back to his family like a frightened child. Hercules takes Alex in his arms and pulls him close, kisses the top of his head. Alex doesn’t have much time left on this earth. The doctor doesn’t know exactly when Alex will die; no one does. His life is a ticking time bomb, and the slightest illness can send him to the grave. But with the time he _does_ have left with Alex, Hercules will make sure that he is well taken care of and protected, and no amount of running away or heavy drug usage can change that.

They walk home together as the night dominates the day, and the food stands close up shop and are wheeled back to garages, and the sky is almost black. Almost, because Hercules can see the slight brown tinge of the glowing streetlights penetrating the everlasting darkness. He likes having no stars above him. The city makes him feel grounded, like he can’t float away, and he doesn’t want to, not with Alex beside him, typing a new journal entry into his phone.

By the time they reach their sixth floor apartment, John and Lafayette have already retired to bed, but the television in the living room is still on, playing an old episode of Twin Peaks, and there’s dinner for them left on the island in the kitchen, wrapped in saran wrap. Hercules sees that there’s a note attached. 

_We went to bed. Long day tomorrow. See you two in the morning. Love you._

_John._

Hercules smiles and sits down on the couch as Alex heats up the leftovers, bringing him a plate when the food is done. Alex leans his head on Hercules’ shoulder as he eats, and after a while Hercules notices that his eyes are fluttering shut. “Babe, c’mon. You can’t sleep like this; you’ll wake up with a sore neck.”

“Fuck off,” his reply is breathy, his voice already rough his sleep, and Hercules rolls his eyes and puts the now empty plate on the table in front of them. There’s a red room on the television screen, which screams John. He waits until Alexander drifts off, then scoops him up and carries him to their shared bedroom. John and Lafayette have mainly taken up most of the bed; Lafayette curled in the middle with John holding him loosely. Even in deep slumber he’s still a scarlet red, frown etched onto his face, and Hercules can’t help but wonder if there’s a way to erase those harsh lines. Lafayette has faded into a greyish purple, nearly translucent, like a grape popsicle with no juice left.

He nudges John with his foot, and the man grunts, so Hercules kicks him. “John,” he whispers, trying not to wake Alexander. “Move your ass.”

“Mm…” John begrudgingly makes room for the other two men, and Hercules lays Alex on the bed. “How is he?”

Hercules sighs, slipping under the covers. “T-cells are lower. He’s angry.”

“Sucks.”

“Yeah…”

“He knows we’ll take care of him, right? No matter what happens?”

“Of course he does, John.”

“Good, then. That’s good.”

There’s a couple of minutes of silence. Hercules thinks that John has fallen asleep again; allows his own breathing to become soft and simple, but John speaks quietly again. “He knows we all love him?”

“Of course, Dearest.”

“I’m glad.”

In the darkness, Hercules can only make out vague shapes of his partners as he turns on his side. He sees Lafayette’s hair in the moonlight, and it looks more like a child’s scribble rather than a mass of curls. He sees John staring at the ceiling, eyes open and hands folded on his chest, and then there’s Alexander. He’s curled in on himself, looking more like a small child than a man, and Hercules wants nothing more than to extract the debilitating disease from his copper body. But he knows that this moment will not be Alexander’s last one. There will be more times like this; where the silver washes every other color out, and Hercules isn’t drowning in a sea of boring, endless brown. He takes another deep breath and closes his eyes.

“Yeah. Me too.”  

**Author's Note:**

> i love writing dialogue with john. he's such a sassy southern boy!!  
> i've got three more installments, but i don't know when they'll be out, so keep an eye open! i love comments and kudos. have a nice day/night, wherever you are!


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